Brighter Days
by S J Smith
Summary: Returning to the table, she poured whiskey into the three glasses, raising one. “To brighter days.” Roy, Riza, Olivia.


Brighter Days

S J Smith

Warnings: Possible spoilers for the end of the series; takes into account everything up to current released fan-translated chapters of FMA.

Summary: Returning to the table, she poured whiskey into the three glasses, raising one. "To brighter days."

Pairings: Roy/Riza/Olivia

* * *

Roy couldn't get used to it. The mansion seemed so cold, so large. The idea of filling it with people so it didn't feel so empty rolled through his mind. Well, there were ways of doing that. Military personnel would be here, he knew, as well as people to take care of the place. Someday, there would be children, he assumed, though that assumption might be far from the truth. Maybe it was just him, wanting a son to wrestle with or a daughter to bounce on his knee, someone to carry on when he was gone.

"You're making that face, sir."

Startled, Roy blinked, Hawkeye's faint smile brightening the room as it came back into focus. "What face?"

"You know which one." She nodded at the opened bottle of whiskey, picking up the glass and rattling the ice inside of it. "How many have you had, sir?"

With a pout, Roy took the glass from her, setting it next to the bottle. "Why, Lieutenant? Don't you trust me?" He glanced at her from the corner of his eye to watch her reaction.

Hawkeye's expression softened. "I know you, sir. I know what you're thinking now." She nodded at the window, starlight visible in the night sky beyond it. Her calloused fingers whispered across his chin, drawing his face toward her. "He would be very proud."

Roy hated how her words had the ability to unman him. Swallowing hard, he poured two fingers of the booze into his glass, spinning the ice around to cool it somewhat before drinking. "Perhaps," he said, shrugging, "perhaps he'd say that Alex Louis Armstrong shouldn't have died; that Maria Ross shouldn't have been crushed by that homunculus. He might've said that we should've made doubly sure to disable some of the captives we took, so that Edward wouldn't be in a hospital right now, fighting to survive the night."

"The red shrimp is stronger than you think, Mustang." They both turned at the sound of her voice, ringing out stridently. Olivia Armstrong stood in the doorway, arms crossed, legs spread, that damnable smirk on her face. Roy could just catch a glimpse of her right eye beneath that glorious mane of hair. "In fact, I just came from the hospital. Both Elric brothers are doing fine. Edward was insisting someone call Rezembool for his mechanic, since his leg was destroyed. The doctor said he'd regain full mobility in his right leg, he just needs time to heal."

"Which he'll get." Hero or not, Roy was determined to discharge Edward from the military.

Armstrong just twitched an eyebrow at Roy's comment. "I suppose you'd have to tie him to a bed to make sure he stayed still but I suppose his brother and his mechanic will do that if necessary."

"No doubt," Hawkeye murmured in agreement.

The silence stretched between them a little long, each of them sizing up the other. The battle had not been kind to anyone though there were those who escaped with less damage than others. Hawkeye would bear a scar on her cheek for the rest of her life from a blade that slipped through her defenses. If not for that homunculus prince of Xing, Roy knew that she wouldn't be here standing with him today. Armstrong seemed hale and hearty but Roy had seen her doubled over from a punch to the stomach and when she walked into the room to join them, her left leg didn't move as quite as easily as the right. He, himself, wore a sling around his neck, his hand bandaged and splinted, from someone who thought taking out his right hand would keep him from using his alchemy. That had been proven wrong to devastating consequences for Roy's attacker.

"Drinking, Mustang?" Armstrong paused before the table and the open bottle adorning it. There was a hint of contempt laced in her question and Roy smiled sweetly in return.

"Honoring the fallen, Brigadier General. Perhaps you'd like to join us?"

"Seems maudlin." Armstrong made her way toward the cabinet and removed another pair of glasses, regardless. "And not in keeping with the sentiments. We should be celebrating, not mourning." Returning to the table, she poured whiskey into the three glasses, raising one. "To brighter days."

"Here, here." Hawkeye picked up a glass, saluting Armstrong with it.

Roy took his glass, studying the liquor in it for a few seconds before tipping the whiskey into his mouth. "An excellent sentiment."

"From your expression, not exactly one you believe in." Armstrong shot the liquor and set her glass back on the table. "You do have a way of dragging a party down, Mustang."

"Is that what this is, a party?" Roy snorted then realized the women were exchanging glances. His eyebrows shot up into his bangs. "You planned this?"

"I was invited to a celebration," Armstrong said, reaching up to start undoing the buttons of her jacket. "And I think it's about damn time we start it."

* * *

"He's undressing us with his eyes again." Brigadier General Armstrong didn't sound like she found it endearing in the least. Her hand twitched and Riza shook her head in warning.

"Don't. Weapons make it worse. I think they actually get him harder."

Armstrong's eyebrows shot up into her bangs. "Please tell me you're kidding, First Lieutenant."

"I wish I were. I've threatened him with my sidearm on numerous occasions. He appears to think it is foreplay." Riza managed to keep the disparaging tone out of her voice, but only just.

Snorting, Armstrong poured herself a cup of coffee. "Dare we join him at his table or will that only incite further fantasies?"

Riza didn't even need to look to know that Mustang's eyes would be glazed over. It was a good thing he'd learned in her father's house how to control all the other outward symptoms of lust. "Best if we separate completely. If we sit with each other, that will urge him on to greater…heights."

The corners of Armstrong's mouth tipped up at that. "I'm sure you know him best."

No need to rise to that bait, either. "Good day, sir." Inclining her head, Riza waited for Armstrong to leave the cafeteria before seating herself at Mustang's table, saying in greeting, "I'm afraid she's on to you, sir."

"On to me?" How the man could look so innocent continually amazed Riza. His dumbfounded expression was completely without artifice.

Riza took a sip of her coffee and busied herself with her lunch. "You were making that face, sir."

That got a reaction. "I was not." His lower lip protruded and Riza bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crowing, 'The lip!' out loud. He'd always hated when she and Maes had teased him about it.

"Just drink your coffee, sir." And in the mean time, she'd indulge in a little fantasy of her own.

* * *


End file.
